


Revolving Coffin Doors

by Hyacinthium



Category: Dangan Ronpa - All Media Types, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Blood Kink, Blood and Injury, Choking, Consensual Kink, Gore, Immortality, Implied/Referenced Suicide, Knifeplay, Love Across The Universe: Dangan Salmon Team, M/M, Not Really Character Death, Smut, Snuff, Stabbing, Twisted and Fluffy Feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-20
Updated: 2019-03-16
Packaged: 2019-11-01 10:12:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,179
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17865359
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hyacinthium/pseuds/Hyacinthium
Summary: Saihara Shuichi finds out that Ouma Kokichi can't stay dead.





	1. When You Just Want To Say

**Author's Note:**

> Hello and yes I don't know either. Rated for next chapter. 
> 
> Uuhhhhu. Mentions of pregame elements leaking through. Lotsa implications. Kokichi nongraphically kills himself a few times. Tbh just testing waters and myself rn lol.

It has been three weeks. Just three weeks since everyone graduated from the Dating Game. Only three weeks for everyone to digest the truth, that not only are they artificial Ultimates custom made for entertainment, of how all of them are fictional. Three weeks to adjust to learning that even their ages and names are false. Weeks of slipping into something almost strange while being shoved off to a complementary couple's apartment with Ouma. 

Ten minutes ago, both of them were quietly making breakfast at three in the afternoon. Now is so very different though. A masked robber, a knife and two boys confused by existence, a total of ten minutes; even the robber is watching in horror as Ouma rips the knife out and falls to the floor. 

Shuichi slides down the refrigerator and onto the floor. His eyes remain locked onto the shape in front of him, and the boy doesn't look away from the blood pooling either. The robber drops the blade as he runs away. Or perhaps fan would be a better word. All that blabbering about how Ouma and Shuichi are both ‘perfect’. That they deserved to get into the Killing Game instead. It doesn't matter when all Shuichi can do is watch Ouma’s pure white turtleneck and pale skin become stained.

Purple eyes cringe shut as Ouma cries out, "Oh f-hu-uuck! God, fucking lucky b-bastard!" 

Shuichi watches the other boy worm his way forward, frozen. He wants to bolt up and grab the phone. Knife wounds are rarely fatal and an ambulance will fix everything. Yet even knowing that can't make Shuichi’s body move. The boy is still stuck molding himself into the fridge. Nothing feels real at all.

Kokichi's laughter is like a crack that encompasses the Ultimate Detective's body. 

It makes him flinch as it fills his ears alongside a rapid pulse. So too does the way that the other boy claws his way into sitting position, and the rueful look on his face. 

One of them sitting limp against the shiny chrome refrigerator. The other, clutching his wound and sitting against the kitchen's island. Ebony black wood and bright white counters because of Ouma’s aesthetic choices. Shuichi can remember snorting at how his maybe boyfriend heckled the people in charge of 'making them comfortable'. 

All life seems to be draining from Ouma’s visage. For some reason though, the Ultimate Supreme Leader only seems annoyed.

"Honestly what th' fuck. This sucks my ass more than anything e-else," Kokichi gasps as he shifts, teeth baring themselves while his lips pull into a bloodless snarl. "Can't do... Do anything right! Fuck me."

The boy whimpers when his own fingers spasm against the wound. Shuichi jerks forward and finally finds himself mobile. He feels his hands move Kokichi's away, his own shirt already being removed and turned into a bundle of cloth. It feels strange to see so much blood. Unwanted excitement born from obligatory ‘deprogramming’ hits too. Memories of implanted knowledge tell him that this shouldn't be bleeding so badly though. Not that any of those are reliable in his eyes, because Shuichi can't trust Team Dangan Ronpa, but still. 

"You'll fine, will be fine!" the Detective wheezes, voice thin and wispy. 

Blinking, Kokichi smiles softly despite what must be horrible pain. Even when the cloth is firmly pressed into him. As if the boy is trying to reject his circumstances just to make Shuichi feel a little bit better. 

A pale hand tucks teal hair behind Shuichi’s ears. It shakes horrifically and spreads still slick blood whereever it touches.

"I guess it's not Saihara-chan's fa-fault that he's stupid. Nishishi! After all," but the other boy falls silent with a frown.

Quiet sobs fill the room before Shuichi wobbles up to his feet and tries to remember where the phones are. He really can't understand Ouma right now. Everything is wrong, more than usual, and the only way that a robber could have gotten in is from sabotage. Obsessed fan. Shuichi’s head tilts and shakes as he walks forward. Like a newborn deer looking for its mother. The absurdity makes him shudder.

There's a scrape of metal against tiles, and then something sickeningly wet rings out like a bullet. Invading the boy's senses to the point of his knees almost giving out. Shuichi gasps for air as he stares out the window across from him. The phone is just to the right on a counter. 

Gold eyes shut. 

What kind of sound was that, Shuichi doesn't want to know. But he turns around despite himself. 

Ouma looks back at him with even more blood over him. Innocently blinking eyes scrunch up happily. The boy smiles nonchalantly and hops up to his feet, and the knife is flung to the floor. His pale and exposed neck is covered with blood. Shuichi fully turns around in order to wordlessly stare as Ouma peels his shirt off. 

Underneath that bloodstained turtleneck is nothing but untouched skin.

"Sooo, I guess we need to talk?" Ouma cheerfully asks, his pitch a mock whisper.

"Bwuh!"

Ouma pauses to stare at the Detective with crystal clear worry. He shuffles, toss his ruined shirt, "Well. Some people don't die when they're killed. Except that it sucks and-" 

Shuichi barrels into his boyfriend's unprepared body and holds onto him.

The next three hours are spent in the bathroom. Full of explanations that Shuichi barely understands, and hot water that makes them melt into one another. Ouma says all sorts of things that twist and curl. Words that send shivers down his spine. Each one makes him pull Ouma closer. Honestly, being naked in the bathtub together is the closest they've ever been. Shuichi just can't let the other boy go though. Even if they're only 'barely dating'. 

Soft skin, supple and wet, brushes against Shuichi as they soak. Ouma Kokichi is a person almost made up of lies. But the Ultimate Detective has no choice but to believe his current truth. 

Immortality of the impossible to kill kind. 

Ouma implies quite a few things about it. 

Just what kind of probability leads to being unable to die? Shuichi can't fathom what it must be like. He murmurs ideas about it, brain sick, that maybe his boyfriend is a real Ultimate after all; “W- what if you're an Ultimate Luckster? What if it's just luck or something…”

That maybe he's blessed or its something scientific- Ouma isn't even a stranger to dying either, that much is obvious. Yet the boy just deflects or leans into Shuichi's chest. It makes him feel like curling up even more. Which he does, inhaling the scent of Ouma’s cinnamon and brown sugar shampoo. Both of them are only just finished trembling after a long time of Shuichi’s hands worrying over untouched skin. 

"Ah... Saihara-chan is like a greedy animal," Ouma mutters lazily. His soft hearted complaints are always paired with languid actions though. Like silently demanding Shuichi’s arms around him. 

Both of them freeze after the smaller boy shifts, his ass rubbing up against a certain something. Said something being invigorated by a lingering chemical cocktail inside of Shuichi’s body. Panic and an ungodly amount of relief aren't exactly subdued things. Combined with the nudity, Ouma’s closeness, and the constant if faint contact… 

The boys look at one another with a mutual shock. 

"You're hard?!" Ouma gasps will false indignation, water splashing as he faces Shuichi. The other boy pouts with puffed up cheeks and points down. "I can't believe this! The first time I get to see your dicky being a sticky and- and it's only hours after I die? Saihhhhara-chan!" 

A ferocious heat consumes Shuichi’s face.

"That's not why though! Ouma-kun's butt is just really squishy yet firm..." the Detective says. He grumbles and covers his mouth. Ouma is mocking an unfortunate erection despite knowing what it's like to have an erection. Shuichi has gotten hard over the mere sight of lingerie on a mannequin before. It's only natural that an actual person would be more arousing. 

Golden eyes flicker from water, where escape to, and back to Ouma's face. 

Which is completely blank save for a hint of curiosity. Those inquisitive eyes rake over Shuichi’s entire existence. Now that the he knows of Ouma’s supernatural quality, this once unnerving yet interesting expression is almost frightening.

"Mmhmm. So Saihara-chan really likes me this way too, huh? To think that I've been insecure." 

It's not at all the kind of question that one answers. Not even when Ouma starts crawling forward into Shuichi's space. Somehow, the other boy ends up straddling the Detective with a pensive amusement. They kiss soon after- lips hesitant but warm. Dizzying and worrying are both wonderful ways to describe it. Barriers put up with unspoken agreement prove just as unspoken in their demise. With just one kiss, with a hand on Ouma’s back and another on his ass, with their wet hair sticking to wet skin; a final decision manifesting in the feeling of Ouma Kokichi grabbing erect flesh.

"Saihara-chan and I gotta have lots and lots of 'fun' from now on, m'kay? I'm actually really needy," the boy murmurs before biting at Shuichi’s lips. 

"Uh... Uhuh-" but there's no way to respond when Ouma is attacking him so confidently. Shuichi can only buck his hips, and grab more of that delightful body. It seems to be something that both of them appreciate too. 

Ouma laughs against a bobbing Adam's Apple and bites at pale skin, growling and moaning all at once, "It's funny that you think you're going to be in charge here. Saihara Shuichi better get his gross hand off of me! He can't just touch me when he's still a dishonest liar, got it?" 

Eyes meet before Shuichi obeys. He puts his hands up in the air and helplessly shivers. Whether Ouma is lying or not doesn't matter in the end. The look on Ouma’s face is truly sinister. A toothy grin paired with narrowed eyes set ablaze. Shuichi has likewise never been so aroused in his life. It feels like everything is dragging him into a pit of obscenities. Even though the Detective has been mostly honest to himself, in that he does at least have some kind of attraction to Ouma… 

He's always trying to skirt around this kind of want. 

Want is not something that Shuichi is used to. At least, nothing like a want that makes his entire existence revolve around just one person. It's easy to understand why now. None of them have truly existed for more than a handful of years, personalities made from sacrificed bodies and a desire for a fictional reality. So no, want is not something that Shuichi has actually experienced before. But he wants to. 

It's obvious that Ouma wants, too. 

As the night goes on and transforms that want into satisfaction- 

Shuichi learns what it's like to exist for just one person's pleasure as well. He learns that it feels better to earn Ouma’s moans, that his heart can race just from kissing someone's hands, and that being able to lick the skin where a far too bloody wound will never be again- is more than enough to calm his mind. The Detective has engraved the quiet sounds of his boyfriend's pleasure into his memories. Mixed in with the sloshing of bathwater and their slippery skin. 

Finding that Ouma likes it when Shuichi gropes him or rubs at his ass is unexpected. That said, it's very welcome knowledge. Just the same as Shuichi’s squeals when Ouma bites his nipples. 

Putting that day into one word is difficult. Shuichi can only come up with one thing; Turbulent. 

That is how the two of them become a solidified couple. Just three weeks out of being real fiction, coping by being recluses, and with the help of a mysterious function that Ouma has been born with. 

What unfolds is a rough year all around. It starts with the robber turning himself in due a friend being a fan. All accounts of stabbing and such are put down to drugs found in his system. One security guard vanishes and five more are fired. Good, except for the fact that Ouma keeps dying. Meeting with Iruma and Akamatsu equals Shuichi having to pretend that Ouma is merely sleeping. That huge hammer only grazed him, Shuichi lies. 

Choking on a fish bone during dinner. 

Falling down the stairs and twisting his neck.

A sports car roaring down a lonely residential street in the middle of the night. 

Various grievous injuries that result in a pained Ouma grimacing, and deciding to skip the healing process. 

Ouma's boredom. 

Everywhere they go is a place where Shuichi might have to watch his lover die. That's how it feels, that's the sentiment that starts to fester, and the young man can't contain himself sometimes. Holding into Ouma’s welcoming body and sobbing pathetically, begging him not to go. Nights spent like that can't be healthy for either of them. It's even fair to say that none of it is ‘healthy’ insofar as having to witness Ouma die. Yet, the two of them are so much weaker when alone. 

Shuichi doesn't have to be an Ultimate Detective to know that. He also doesn't have to be a genius in order to know that their status quo will deteriorate. Ouma can't continue dying multiple times a week. Living like this will make either of them break, again. 

The last time Ouma Kokichi broke is back when he decided to join Dangan Ronpa in search of a final death- and Shuichi can never allow that to happen again. 

Both of them will just have to figure out how to stop it. 

Which is what Shuichi says to his lover one night, voice soft and trembling. Cuddling up together after a hard day of investigating a serial cheater. Honestly, the Detective wishes he could have stayed home. Just to make sure… 

“Ehehe, we'll,” a still loopy Ouma mutters, twitching in Shuichi’s arms. His bleary-eyed gaze darts up towards tired gold. Post death sex tends to cheer them both up. Especially after the smaller man manages to die from slipping in the shower.

Ouma giggles before nibbling on Shuichi’s ear, “How about you kill me instead?”

Golden and blank eyes widen.

“Th-that isn't!” but Shuichi can't continue.

Relenting doesn't occur either, not with Ouma Kokichi, and the bliss filling the Ultimate Supreme Leader adds an intoxicated quality to the man's smile. Pale hands run through Shuichi’s hair. They fidgets and busy themselves with the slowly growing length of it, rubbing silky teal strands without a care. Shuichi is struck with the realization that he's seen those fingers brutalized a hundred times. He quickly panics and grabs at them, heart racing even when he finally sees that they're whole. 

Another laugh pairing itself with a rueful grin. Ouma doesn't look discontent in the least. 

They stay silent instead of saying anything else of importance.

Carefully, Ouma takes hold of Shuichi’s hands and brings them to his neck. Shuichi shudders at the mere prospect of what Ouma is demanding of him. Yet he allows his trembling fingers to touch soft skin. The Detective watches and glances. He's busy with taking in a pulse, and just how delicate Ouma’s easily snappable neck is. Adam's Apple, Jugular Veins, Carotid Arteries. Hyoid Bone. 

Ginger fingertips run along Ouma-kun's neck. They map out various muscles and nodes as the two men end up moving. Until they settle with Shuichi looming, lips quivering while purple eyes rake into his retinas.

“You've noticed that there's a pattern too, right?” the steadily waning man says, laughter absent. His eyes are half lidded now. Their usual spark of stubborn mischief is twisting into something heated. A glimmer that makes the room fall dark. “Saihara-chan is nearing the end if his rope too, aren't you? Then… it's fine if you're the one that kills me.”

Shuichi’s hands spasm.

Ouma smiles again, as if secretive, “Because Saihara-chan and I might be able to handle my death quota alone, so it's really fi-”

Shuichi’s hands clamp down.


	2. at first you don't succeed

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi makes a coffin all on his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> He didn't quite get to the fucking but that's OK.

Sometimes, the first try at something should also be the last. 

This is not the last at all whatsoever. Nor is it a successful attempt in any meaning of the word. Shuichi’s hands jolt back just seconds after affirming his grip. Despite what people may believe, normal human beings don't have the capacity to commit murder. Even if Ouma doesn't stay dead. Regardless of what the outside world says too. In Shuichi’s mind there is only the ever present truth that Ouma is a person. 

He can't forget the grand total of two seconds where that fact died in the face of Ouma’s words. 

Neither of them speak about it directly. Actually, that's not all they don't do either. Shuichi just can't stomach the idea of touching his boyfriend like that again. Which means that Shuichi isn't going to be doing anything involving sex. He barely wants to touch Ouma at all. 

Ouma very clearly takes exception to that, but the other man refuses to push.

Yet so too are they both aware that Ouma isn't lying about a few things. One is that he's needy, as said long ago in the bathtub, and the Ultimate Supreme Leader's response to no sex is cuddling. Aggressive and constant contact that has Shuichi holding the man each day. 

In the living room, he balances Ouma in his lap. In the bedroom, Ouma curls up half way on his chest. In the kitchen as well, space between them doesn't exist. In the bath, with an energy much different than before. In the area called a balcony, outside of the apartment, and whenever they're remotely together; Ouma won't let go of him and he seems incapable of it. 

Shuichi can't help being whittled down by it. He knows that Ouma has the memory of a large family. Affection paired with touch is his normal. That both of them have become irreplaceable to one another, so close that the perceived lack of intimacy must be a real fear, is a weight. Which is why the man can't last long. Ouma is too good at tempting, and showing, too skilled at quietly making it obvious how hurt he is by Shuichi’s avoidance. In the end though... 

Avoiding Ouma isn't what the detective actually wants. No, his cowardly self wants to forget about the disappointed yet loving look on the other boy's face.

Between a wall and a sword is how it all feels. Yet Shuichi can't hold onto his memory of that expression. Not in the face of Ouma’s need for closeness. The boy gives in before long, likewise clinging, much to the joy of his boyfriend. It's not a slow start or anything prolonged. They simply gravitate towards one another one night, Shuichi running late from traffic and work. An instant and palatable break in his hesitance occurs the moment the door opens for him. 

Just the sight of Ouma in his boxers and a borrowed shirt does it. A dam breaks like a boat sinking after dynamite turns a small hole into a crater. 

Which is how they find themselves making out on the couch. Shuichi isn't even sure what either of them said. Perhaps neither of them are speaking even now, and how can they be? Voices aren't required for this heat. Neither of them need to talk in order for feelings to finally lip out from their lips. Their skin, brushing together alongside lips damp with saliva, are all they need to use. Feeling Ouma push them closer and closer is all that Shuichi needs. 

Despite the absence and the guilt... This is all that Shuichi has wanted the whole time. Avoidance can't hide that anymore. He just wants to feel how alive Ouma is.

The softness of his hair which smells of rose. The nape of his neck that tastes like hints of salt and milky honey. The way his lips grow red from just a single nip. The glints in his eyes, always so vibrant no matter what. 

The sound and feeling of Ouma’s heartbeat.

Ouma is here with life flowing through his veins, and the detective doesn't bother to pull away when pale hands reach for his pants- because he doesn't want to. Stopping isn't in his own personal wishlist. He wants to get closer. To hold on and drive Ouma to climax as many times as would be welcome.

All of everyday. Forever. That's what his lips brand into the delicate skin of Ouma’s shoulders. Whatever happens can never take this feeling away, this world isn't allowed to take more away from them…

Shuichi feels like a thief that afternoon. Taking Ouma's voice and usual dominant manner away from him. It's certainly not their normal dynamic. Ouma tries to make a point of it, and he never begs. But neither does he seem at all perturbed about arching his back up from the sofa. Nor does the other boy do anything but laugh and moan when Shuichi takes complete control, no, Ouma only moans with a smile. He stares up with glazed eyes as the pace is set by someone other than him.

Both of them end up wanting far more sex than before. At least, after they start touching again.

Nothing stops Ouma from continuing to die though. Of course, the other boy never stays dead. There's even a time limit on how long he is dead. For just about everything too, no matter what, Ouma won't be dead for more than nine minutes and fifty seven seconds. 

It's something that Shuichi reminds himself of each time. All he needs to do is wait and then, like always, the damage will be undone and the deathly paleness will be colored by a flush. One that only Shuichi knows to how to spot now. Each joke from others becomes a strain of pride. Shuichi knows when his boyfriend is alive. He can tell the difference between Ouma's normal pallor and that of death.

Just the same in the end, however. There are times when Shuichi will lay sleeping with his eyes open- dreaming that the boy by his side chosen to loom over him with a scythe in hand. But never is there a drop of fear during those moments of sleep paralysis. Shuichi is growing desensitized to the mortal dread of death. One morning brings with it an inexplicably dead Ouma, and Shuichi merely holds onto him while waiting for that first heartbeat.

Should his lover open those eyes and smile, reach over and become Shuichi’s own death, the detective can't say that he would mind at all. He possibly never has. As it is however, Ouma takes only three-minutes to wake and greets Shuichi with a fond yawn that day.

Life continues on in that fashion. Just as precarious and agonizing as before, but with a new kind of acceptance woven in. It's not as unbearable as before. Existing like this is still something that Shuichi knows is unstable. He simply isn't drowning under it anymore. Or at least, he understands that he isn't drowning alone.

But that doesn't mean that Ouma’s theoretical solution goes away. It becomes even stronger despite being left unsaid for a time. Shuichi can feel it in the way purple eyes stare at him. After each death, each first breath taken for the hundredth time, the eyes that Shuichi wants to have look at him do so with a weight. He can't even say that he doesn't understand anymore. To say that he doesn't know is impossible. 

Ouma wants to cling to life just the same as Shuichi wants him to be alive. The other boy, always standing at glass planes to watch the sunset, wants to remain too.

Thoughts like that haunt each waking moment of their lives. Even now, when Shuichi and Ouma are resting in bed- the urge to make sure that Ouma is warm won't fade. 

"Hey, Saihara-chan is really active tonight..." Ouma murmurs as usual, smiling while hands trace swirling patterns onto skin. One finger runs across a prominent collarbone and he giggles. The boy glances over and turns too, facing Shuichi fully, "Saihara-chan must be feeling good after dinner. Does he want to 'eat' more?"

Shuichi coughs before sinking his face into the crook of Ouma’s neck.

"Not that kind of eat..."

"Oooh, but you're still admitting to being voracious! Saihara-chan has been ravaging my poor waif like body lately. It's like you want to swallow me whole," the boy laughs after speaking what might be true. 

It makes Shuichi's mouth open to say some kind of retort, but Ouma’s perspective isn't wrong. He's been needy too lately. Both of them know exactly why too. Neither of them can hide how much they're bothered by Ouma always-never dying. When one has a condition like this... 

"Can I?" Shuichi asks while pressing kisses into the column of Ouma’s neck.

A pale hand lifts his head and dark eyes stare into him. Their bodies come to rest against one another, Ouma looking sinister and coy, but it's only after Shuichi’s hand is made to rest on Ouma's face. Something like a promise lurks within lilac and lavender. It's an inky tint that sends ambiguous chills down Shuichi’s spine. Even so, he thinks that Ouma is nothing short of enthralling. 

During times like this, he thinks it might be okay for everything else to stop existing.

Not in some dark manner of thought, no. Merely as a articulated version of his feelings. The want to stay in one moment with the person that he loves. He just doesn't want this oddly solemn intimacy to end.

Hickies will always vanish upon resurrection. That's probably why Shuichi has become addicted to covering Ouma's neck with them. Other parts too, like thighs and hips and even chest.

So he keeps his hands on Ouma's neck and waist, mouth sucking skin while teeth graze against sensitive spots. The left side of Ouma's neck is better to target than the right. His pulse point is fun to bite at. Ouma loves it when Shuichi licks along his jugular. Particularly sharp nips and harsh suction will make the boy's toes curl. Those pale yet so very pink lips will part for the sake of subtle gasping, and Ouma’s knuckles will become white as they pull at sheets.

The detective doesn't notice that Ouma’s hand is moving his own at first. Not until tiny fingernails force his own down. Even that doesn't register right away. Shuichi is having too much fun hearing his boyfriend writhe and mewl. Too much fun feeling how alive they both are.

Wet with spit, Shuichi’s lips leave marked up skin with an obscene noise. It fills his ears even as Ouma's blissful expression fills his vision. The two boys gaze at one another for a time, both of them breathing heavily, and Shuichi can see with just as glance that both of them are hard. It's like they're waiting for a bullet to go off. But Shuichi can wait anymore. He pushes himself up and captures Ouma's mouth. Tastes hints of peppermint and drinks in the boy's amused sighs.

"Ouma-kun is confusing... I don't understand what you're doing right now," Shuichi slowly lies. An obvious falsehood too. 

Not a single death has happened today, and neither of them are stupid. There's a reason why Ouma is holding a hand to his neck. Shuichi is also the only person that will ever be allowed or asked to do this. He's the only person that Ouma could ever ask. Even then, Ouma probably wishes that Shuichi 'could never know'.

Black-plum hair obscures white sheets, purple eyes crinkle and shine, but Ouma doesn't speak yet. The boy merely grins some wicked thing before revealing more of his neck. Ouma’s skin is covered in shades of red and purple. Blood being brought to the surface, gorgeous proof. Shuichi feels himself melt and break even as trembling starts up.

Careful, slow and gentle.

Two strong hands take their place on Ouma's neck.

Ouma shivers and forces those hands tighter with his own, crooning, "I need you."

"I love you..."

"You're so manipulative that it's sad-" Shuichi wheezes, a strange heat rushing throughout him. It's just like the time a client snuck him a bottle of wine as a bonus.

"But I'm not lying," Ouma says. He blinks wide eyed, lacking both ignorance and malice. "I'm not going to be lying either. I hate dying. I hate not having any control over it. Except that if it's Saihara Shuichi killing him, if it's Ouma Kokichi dying in a way that he can share control of, then I don't think that I'll hate it at all."

Shuichi has been told that he has beautiful hands. Ouma says that, closing his eyes while mapping out his fingerprints and each joint. His hands are strong, capable, and the detective uses them well. That's just icing on the cake though, the other boy will say, since Shuichi himself is all those things. It's a strange sentiment that he's not sure will ever feel like the truth. But Ouma refuses to stop complimenting him. As if saying it will reinforce what Ouma insists is true.

It's a truth that Ouma insists on…

At times, the first try at something should also be the last time. The final attempt made. Shuichi can't deny the wisdom of that. The problem with that is the fact that attempts will continue to succeed even if Shuichi refuses to make his own. 

This theory of Ouma’s may certainly prove true. It uses all the same facts that Shuichi has observed as well. Should it work the way that Ouma thinks it will, then there's no reason not to. But Shuichi doesn't have it in him to murder anyone. Which- means nothing, says a nonchalant something in his brain. Ouma doesn't die. A person cannot murder another person is no death truly occurs. 

You want to help him. You love him. You can at least give him control over his life, through you. 

“Just once,” one of them begs, voice thick and thin, breathing not at all. Only this once. “Please.”

For now. 

Golden eyes darken from the absolute rapture inside of Ouma’s own. They drag down from a innocently leering mouth, and settle on a twofold grip. Hands on hands. Shuichi’s mind flits back and forth from thoughts of arteries and windpipe. Fingers rub into unnamed anatomy as the room grows silent. It's something that they've talked about once. A strange little conversation back in the game, Ouma being odd and knowledgeable. 

Choking someone is complicated. 

Ouma’s legs kick when he's being strangled. 

Both of them end up moving somehow. Ouma pushes Shuichi’s hands further into him while writhing against the bed. Shuichi finds himself straddling Ouma’s lithe body. He can feel each rapid thump of that heart, and so too can he feel the other boy's erection rubbing against his ass. The knowledge whirls around his head like a spinning top. All he can see is the heavy flush on Ouma's face. How that expression is contorting into something peaceful. 

Shuichi tries to smile reassuringly, hands desperately trying to crush his lover's windpipe. He's cutting off the flow of oxygen to Ouma's brain. Blood flow as well, maybe. Killing him, trying to wring the life out of him, but all the Ultimate Supreme Leader responds with is… 

Pulling Shuichi closer while acting like it feels good. As if those tears are from happiness or relief. Maybe they are, and the thought makes another part of Shuichi bend out of place. He grinds back and grips tighter, tighter, tighter; earnestly trying to finish killing the the person that he loves the most. That's right, this world that made him is just like that. If one of their friends dies after all this, then Shuichi will want to die too. But he'll live and accept it eventually. 

If Ouma Kokichi dies then Saihara Shuichi will certainly follow him. Which is why it's better this way. That's why the way that Ouma’s throttled body is so obviously aching, arching into Shuichi's capable hands, is alright. 

“Love you, I love you,” Shuichi croaks, eyes burning as he watches Ouma slowly stop. Pain digs into his wrists for a few seconds. Ouma smiles up at him with drool running down his chin. The detective returns it, gripping that delicate-frail-sturdy neck with more force, “I love you so much. I was made for you, right? They made us to be together. Ouma-kun said something like that, you definitely did, so you c-can’t actually leave me yet- please don't leave me alone yet!”

Ouma can't answer. 

Shuichi’s hands stay wrapped around that neck. Even when that enthralling and subtle flush fades. After all warmth vanishes. He only releases his hold, sitting back, once the other boy's erection is completely gone. 

Resurrection takes approximately three minutes and twenty-four seconds. 

“You came…”

A languid curl of lips, “I like Saihara-chan’s hands.”

No one dies for the next four days. Ouma, of course, is included. Shuichi can't deny that this is something of a record. 

The first attempt is never the last.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next time I'm thinking time skip and stabbing.


	3. And in the looking glass I saw

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shuichi and Kokichi fall down the rabbit hole together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Clocks changing is so stupid and I will write the sexual stabbing next time. This is your last warning. We're about to sexualize brutal killing. 
> 
> Happy saiou day.

"Isn't it okay?" 

"It's not..."

But things change, and they change rapidly yet slowly. The days after Ouma finally dies again are fraught with something like smoke. It drifts between them and brings the scent of desperation with it. Cracks appear all around Shuichi’s heart, his mind, and the detective can't stay steady. He finds himself looking at Ouma's temporary corpse with just one thought. For an earthquake to result in this is unfair. It's unacceptable.

Ouma shouldn't have to live his entire life with this pain just because of Shuichi’s hesitation.

So, after four days of no death and three days where Shuichi’s heart aches, they do it again. Ouma is killed again by his own lover. It's done in the morning this time. When they wake up and have drowsiness itching at their vision. As the sun is still rising and shining through their windows. The detective can't do it the same way this time, and instead he uses a pillow to obscure Ouma's face. 

He finds himself hyperventilating and clinging to Ouma's body, the other boy- man- crying for the first time after waking up to such a sight. Perhaps it's just the first time that Shuichi has seen undeniably real tears. Even Ouma doesn't seem sure.

"Maybe... I don't think that anyone has ever cried over it in a long time. Not like this," Ouma later murmurs. He smiles wryly, tired in so many ways, and rubs his thumb into Shuichi's cheekbones. A more cheerful tinge fills his eyes, "Not like Saihara-chan does. Other people are never really sorry."

The person in question just holds on tighter. Neither of them leave the bed for hours, until the need for food and basic self-care becomes too strong. Yet they travel through the delayed morning together even so. Shower, breakfast, everything is done side by side. 

Shuichi already knows what his all expenses paid therapist would say. But the detective is not forced to go and no one is going to be exposing Ouma’s circumstances.

For the next three months, Shuichi quietly kills his boyfriend at least once a week. Ouma... Always gets off on it. That fact is almost more nerve-wracking than the murder. Shuichi might be able to live with the idea of giving control. Watching Ouma constantly and consistently get aroused even before the act starts is too much though. It's strange and dirty. Like ruining anything like innocence, but Shuichi caves soon enough. He allows the newly alive Ouma to grab at him afterwards.

Pale hands that are still so clearly alive and warm. Shuichi ends up shuddering at Ouma's touch, but so too does he cling onto the other boy after each death. He dedicates himself to being the only reason why Ouma dies. Likewise, the detective dedicates himself to that look of utter relief and how it turns into wanton need.

"Hey, stop calling me that," Ouma says one night, grinding his ass against Shuichi’s tented pants. "I don't want to hear that name anymore... Shuichi and I are waaay too intimate for that."

Gold eyes squeeze shut while hands grip onto energetic hips.

"K-kokichi. Your name is Kokichi. Kokichi-" Shuichi’s mouth becomes full of sweetness. Hints of cream and sugar from soda, vanilla chapstick. Kokichi grins into him and laughs smugly. He whispers too, mutters little things that make heat boil over. 

Ideas that make seething remnants croon inside of Shuichi’s mind.

Anguish mixes with arousal as Kokichi bites down into Shuichi's lips. Moments pass before Shuichi can even pull away. He groans, "Love you, I love you so much... So I can't do that. I don't know if I'll ever be able to to that. Do you really want that?"

Eyes full of odd sentiments and just barely sinister intent close. Kokichi's mouth forms a soft quirk of lips while all motion stops. Then he opens those eyes, purple and overtaken by pupils. He licks at Shuichi’s mouth in search of a metallic treat. Blood, of course, and Shuichi is proud when Kokichi's humming becomes satisfied. Their erections rub together just a few more times.

"I want Shuichi to fuck me and kill me at the same time," the boy coyly breathes, smile becoming a warm-hearted leer as he holds into Shuichi's face. "I'm a liar- but that's not one, okay? Each time is always so painful and scary. I'm horrible. I keep acting like I'm used to it, but the deepest parts of me aren't. Why else would I want Shuichi to do it so much?"

Painful. Hearing it is painful. Feeling sweat and precum smearing between them, hearing Kokichi tell the truth during the only times he can, is more painful than anything else. Not even having to watch Kokichi die can compare to knowing it for sure. Kokichi's nonchalance and his bored acceptance are lies. Shuichi has always expected it despite praying that at least one of them has been truly desensitized.

The detective thinks that he might hate himself that night.

Regardless, the way that Kokichi orgasms so swiftly while making love and strangled by the hands he adores drowns out any loathing.

It takes a while for Shuichi to calm down after that. Post death sex doesn't happen that day. Instead, Kokichi drags the detective into the bathtub and pampers him. Tells Shuichi that nothing bad happened at all, washes his hair with gentle hands, and whispers loving little riddles. Shuichi kisses him under a veil of steam scented with citrus. Kokichi's lips are soft and wet from the bath. He's slippery from fragrant bath additives, but easy to hold. Remembering the way that the boy convulsed and moaned is so easy that Shuichi shivers.

Kokichi's eyes never look away from him. Not even when he's the perfect picture of obscenity. During that time, that round of mindless action with hands crushing a love-bruise colored neck, the Ultimate Supreme Leader did nothing but meet each thrust with pleasure fueled enthusiasm.

"You're not disgusting," the boy murmurs while brushing wet hair away from gold eyes. Shuichi’s hands lay limp in the water, still tingling.

A claim that is both comforting and factually wrong.

Coming inside of Kokichi's dying body can't be taken back, after all.

Dozens of things stay the same after that. Their relationship doesn't devolve into something horrible. Love and intimacy, support, remains a constant part of the bond between them. Shuichi has days where he can't bring himself to move from bed, and Kokichi is the one to help him back from that pit. There are days where Kokichi's eyes linger on knives or household cleaners, and Shuichi is the one to help him away from that trap.

Nighttime though, or early mornings, change alongside a smattering of little things. Kokichi stares at the sunrise less. He focuses on sunsets more now, always twisting his head to watch the end of a day. Excitement fills his eyes at the fact that another day has been survived. Living seems to be easier on him. The young man gets ready quicker in the morning and leaves the apartment by himself more often. 

Getting a job isn't necessary for either of them due to being former Dangan Ronpa contestants. Shuichi just can't manage himself without working as a detective. Now, it seems like Kokichi might be interested in the same kind of daily life.

His displays of affection come off as less desperate and more assured too. It's a realization that makes Shuichi's walls crumble more. Kokichi doesn't ask for that kind of sex after the first time though. So the detective decides to offer it instead, two months after.

"A- Are you serious? Shumai really didn't seem to like it in the end," Kokichi squirms in the boy's lap, turning back to look into his boyfriend's eyes. There's a layer of hopeful shock and already growing neediness. It's been just a few hours since post death sex was interrupted by one of Shuichi’s coworkers. A second passes before Kokichi slams his laptop shut, body twisting until both of them are pressed into the leather couch, "Beg for the honor of doing it."

Shuichi’s mouth dries even as burning heat stirs within him. The man takes a deep breath, "Please let me kill you. Kokichi, please let me make you feel good about dying. Please. I need to, I need to make sure you know how much I lo-"

That night, Shuichi grinds his unclothed rear against Kokichi's cock- in a very different mimicry of that first murder. He works himself open while using one hand to steal oxygen. Kokichi looks utterly enthralled by it all. It's a wild look, paired with ravaged breathing and ultra-focused intent. Golden eyes lock onto it and Shuichi can't deny how it affects him. Bodies full of twisted passion continue to writhe together. 

No clothing hides them from one another. There's barely any shame as adrenaline sends a fever throughout them. 

Both boys are too caught up in a special kind of temporary insanity, and it's the kind people call complete and utter absolution. Acceptance is what drives their wanton voices higher. It sends Shuichi’s mind into emptiness while making his eyes glaze over. Makes Kokichi's toes curl and his teeth grit when slick warmth engulfs him. 

“God,” the boy wheezes. 

He sobs, clawing at Shuichi’s hair and pulling him closer, hips thrusting at a brutal pace. Kokichi opens his mouth, relentless. Makes Shuichi's own mouth fall slack from the force and says, “Ruin me! Because I've already ruined you, and it's not fair that way!”

And Shuichi obeys the way that they both love. He rides each thrust with pleasure tight in his guts, basking in the roughness that Kokichi always welcomes but rarely gives. Capable fingers still damp from the worship of Kokichi's mouth attack an exposed neck. They clamp down with well practiced expertise. Kokichi must be temptation manifested into a single, misleadingly, delicate looking human being. That's all that Shuichi can think as he watches gratitude make purple eyes roll back. 

Kokichi orgasms while mostly unconscious but not yet dead. The still living man quickly removes his hands, listening to and seeing the spasms- the choking and the drooling. Shuichi pulls himself off of his lover's cock too. Even in this moment, after everything, neither of them want to cross that line. 

Mewls and ragged attempts to inhale fill the air. Reaching down to grab himself, Shuichi teases Kokichi's neck with gentle fingers while pumping himself to completion. The other boy tries to smile. Soon after comes the feeling of Kokichi's strong yet fragile neck giving into Shuichi's hands. Kokichi dies looking comfortable and in love. Just as he did during the Dating Game. 

Only after wiping them both clean does Shuichi collapse into Kokichi's renewed embrace. Warm fills him again, though Kokichi's insistence on fingering the semen out of him prevents unerotic relaxation. He murmurs about how his boyfriend took two minutes and forty seconds to resurrect. It gets the detective an impish bite on his ass. Shuichi decides that he likes it.

That night marks a sharp change in their sex life.

By proxy, their death life. 

It becomes more than just trying to ignore Kokichi's always present arousal. More than covering each inch of him with marks afterwards. There's a kind of ritual to it, paired with impulse. Shuichi’s hands do more than caress pale skin with unsaid apologies. No more guilty pillows obscure a wanton grin. Passing time leads to new methods of control. Lethal amounts of substances that lead to painless death. 

Using silk rope to strangle Kokichi's eagerly submitted neck instead of hands. 

Drowning before an actual bath. 

Small things that nevertheless become just a little more violent. Often with no sex during, though Kokichi's lips have a certain kind of twist to them when he's craving it. A kind of reassurance that Shuichi himself is starting to awaken to in full. 

He's always been aware of who he used to be. That's the first thing that they tell contestants. Swooping them away, couple by couple, and informing them of the truth before kicking them into life. First as a pair but then alone. Dangan Ronpa is run by the kind of people that dropped them into a room of strangers, saying to pick an apartment while blabbering about winnings. Kokichi knows all about that and more. 

Only Shuichi knows that the person who once lived in this body is… 

The kind of person that writes about gruesome murders and salivates over the real Dangan Ronpa. Not that it matters now.

Except that Shuichi might be that kind of person too.

As time goes on, and Kokichi feels better about asking, as Shuichi does more himself- it becomes obvious that he is. Normal people don't start to earnestly enjoy such things. They certainly don't get off on it. If Shuichi were truly different from his former self then neither of them would be doing what they are right now.

Correcting his grip and remembering everything that they've talked about, Shuichi eyes the knife in his hand. He turns his gaze towards how Kokichi's graceful arms are forced into stillness. Bright red ropes bring his pale complexion into the spotlight, contrasting with the ebony headboard that they slot through. Those lithe yet soft legs too. 

Eyes dark with lust travel down to a reddened erection, precum dripping down the shaft.

Kokichi is like a beautiful painting tonight. Immobilized and completely vulnerable. Shuichi smiles at the anticipation hiding in Kokichi's gaze. 

“Does my beloved need more permission?” the other boy purrs, biting his lips and writhing in an attempt to further expose his stomach. 

“Stab me.”

Quivers pass through Shuichi’s fingers as his feverish expression grows almost rabid, eyes narrow and smile twisting. The detective brings cold metal to the underside of his lover's chin. Familiar Adam's Apple, collarbones, sternum and further down. Whether from temperature or the promise behind it, Kokichi seems to undulate from the knife tracing lines into his skin. 

Gold eyes dart up to meet hyper focused purple. Then, breathlessly, 

“How much?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I begin the stabbing.


	4. yet always still be here

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Kokichi and Shuichi. Two bodies. In the hands of the later, a knife. 
> 
> The former- a target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Surprise bitch is was I, Hyacinthium. 
> 
>  
> 
> but probably you knew that

The skin of Kokichi's abdomen is soft and especially pale. It has a slight layer of fatty tissue from his usual level of activity going down after the show finished. His muscles alternate from tensed and relaxed, body unwittingly avoiding the knife, but the blade continues to tease him. 

It must be a strange situation for the other boy. Shuichi can't remember a time in which Kokichi has ever been like this. Bound by ropes and unable to escape. However, the Ultimate Supreme Leader seems more than pleased with his predicament. Kokichi's lips are a delirious yet soft curve that forms slight dimples, his eyes halfway closed- the boy looks like the definition of 'glee' and 'lust'. There's no denying that each purposeful breath is heavy with his anticipation.

“Sometimes, I think that I've just gone crazy. That everything is just a lie that my mind has made up,” Shuichi murmurs as he presses his face into a pale leg. “An Ouma Kokichi that forces himself to honest is insane by itself.”

“Who says I'm forcing it? Shumai is getting too proud and boring. Only an idiot would lie during sex or while dying… don't want that kind of relationship,” the boy whispers back, stretching as much as possible within his restraints. He seems so paradoxically comfortable that Shuichi smiles. The skin of Kokichi's leg is shaven, silk like the ropes, and the detective indulges by rubbing his cheek against it. 

Kokichi's eyebrows furrow and his expression becomes tinged with embarrassment.

“I've noticed that sort of behavior. Does that mean that all I have to do to get the truth is pleasure you?”

A laugh and shivers ensue as the knife glides down towards bare thigh, "You're only just now trying to take advantage of it? Or maybe Shuichi is an idiot. I'll make sure to not say anything next time."

Smiling, the detective stops resting his head on Kokichi's leg. He sits upright and stares at the simple knots. The bondage is a last-minute addition to tonight's act, and far from proper shibari, but Shuichi has a admit that it's a good one. All previous use of bondage has been very different. Nothing to do with Kokichi's dying. Using it like this lends a strange and heavy air to the room.

Careful and slow strokes of metal make Kokichi's muscles clench tight. His bound hands grip one another as his likewise immobilized legs twitch  
Shivers run through him, and the boy stares up at his boyfriend with longing. 

Good deaths, sweet ones, surely; that's what Shuichi tries to make for them each time.

"You really are a tease, huh? Maybe I've turned Shuichi into a real sadist after all," Kokichi murmurs as his flush spreads down to prominent clavicles. The Ultimate Supreme Leader laughs almost mockingly, and the sound has the same effect as raindrops on bells. It makes Shuichi want to lean down to kiss just above his belly button. 

Just to tease him more, and also to drive home that this is comfort- to make sure that Kokichi knows this new death won't be frightening. Nothing that Shuichi does can ever be for that. It's what he thinks about when watching long plum hair curl around his fingers. Mornings of Kokichi's deceptively sturdy body, seeing him stretch and seeing him smile before getting up to great the day, have ingrained such an attitude.

The detective smiles with those sentiments leaking through, and Kokichi falls silent.

Purple eyes waver from eye contact, "Looking at me like that is so gross. I hate it. But, ah... That might be a little li-"

Kokichi's eyes widen. His mouth drops open while most of his blush vanishes, silent save for air escaping as a hiss. Everything about him becomes a tightrope. Shuichi watches how his lover reacts to the blade that his body is engulfing. A knife made for combat, gifted with self-defense in mind, being used for anything but. The detective's gaze darts from the wound and to Kokichi. 

His limbs are pulling the ropes taunt against the headboard, but the precum beading from his still erect cock tells a different story.

Black finish seems to glimmer in the light as Shuichi yanks the blade out from flesh. It must be the blood, he realizes. Kokichi whimpers while breathing a mile a minute, watching everything. The boy huffs out what might be a laugh before grinning. It's thin spreading of lips. Yet the look in the boy's eyes is a swirl- a mess of twisting emotions. Spiraling down just as something like relief or mania bursts open inside of Shuichi’s heart. 

"Isn't this a bit more than just masochism?" the Detective asks, a part of him wanting to hear some kind of dissent.

There's a little gape in Kokichi's stomach. A perfect slice of red, and it bleeds as if confused at exposure. Kokichi careens his neck around in order to look at it too. How the skin directly around it raises ever so slightly. The puncture, still an angry slit, weeps as the body it belongs to breaths. Rushes of adrenaline pulse through Shuichi while he waits.

Nothing like a revoke of consent happens. Kokichi's dilated pupils merely settle onto the thing of matte black that rests in his lover's grip. Their knife, an intimidating blade with serrations and more, and Shuichi’s own eyes lit with feverish acknowledgement. He really can't continue denying anything after this. It makes his fingers flex around the handle and the notches they're settled in.

"Feels like you punched me..." Kokichi says. Short and quiet, breathy like the rest of him. "Do it again."

"Oh God, you really-" like this, but Shuichi doesn't need to say it. The leer on his face twitches and dies before building up again. Purple meets with gold and both of them return the same kind of look. 

Just simple masochism or sadism can't be compared to this, but then again, Shuichi has never considered himself either of those. In fact, he's tried not to for various reasons. To suggest that the boy lump them in with actual BDSM practitioners feels like a cruel insult to the later. Now the Ultimate Detective feels the need to acknowledge that he must be something of the sort. He isn't sure what else this could be called. 

Who, other than the most extreme and depraved interpretations of a sadist, could possibly get hard from truly killing their lover in such a brutal? 

It's not like cutting melted butter. Shuichi has put time into practicing with other things, and stabbing isn't all that hard when you try. Watermelon just has a very different feel to it. Pig still isn't right. Stabbing really is a little like punching though. Except that, at least in his mind, the Detective can perfectly feel the resistance as Kokichi's body tries to keep him out. They both watch as Shuichi’s hand tightens around the grip. 

Shuichi soon feels the textured nylon bite into him. The boy decides to do more than simply remove the blade. He trembles, relaxing his white knuckle hold, and very slowly tries to move the blade. A startled cry and sickening squelches fill the air. Wet noises paired with Kokichi's voice- with nothing like upset in either. 

"God damn it just..." but Kokichi's hips finish for him, stuttering as they bounce upwards. It makes the knife slice deeper against the boy's fresh. 

Being able to witness the haphazard gritting of Kokichi's teeth, bared to the world as pain and pleasure assault his senses, is a gift that Shuichi’s entirety can never give enough thanks for. It feels like a cold rush of absolution is clawing at his heart. He knows where the chill comes from. Even so, it can't remove him from the scene of Kokichi's body writhing. Gold eyes stray only to watch blood travel. 

It's undeniable that Saihara Shuichi is smitten with how Ouma Kokichi looks right now.

Kokichi sobs, chest heaving and torso trying to twist, "Touch my dick! Fuck, just touch me, your hand is right there!"

The demand makes Shuichi blink from how quickly his boyfriend seems to be escalating. Of course, Kokichi is always aroused when getting killed by the Detective. Never when anyone or thing else us the culprit. It's a chilling yet comforting fact that makes Shuichi's mind falter. Love certainly wouldn't like to be the cause of this exception, but if that's why the Ultimate Supreme Leader is less... 

Removing his unused hand from one of Kokichi's legs, Shuichi slowly trails a finger along precum soaked skin. Kokichi's erection has barely flagged at all. His foreskin is retracted and the engorged flesh twitches at each touch. Shuichi’s lips curl up even further as he caresses taunt skin.

"You look s-so far gone, it's cute~!" his lover tries to croon. Kokichi bites at his own lips while tears run down his cheeks. It makes Shuichi pause, but he trusts the other boy to safeword if need be.

Looking far gone is probably true though. Shuichi can feel exactly how large his smile is. By now it must be to the point of a leer or grin. He hums his agreement, and sighs, heart pounding like a steady hammer. Feelings are still twisting around inside of him. Roiling, squirming things with no concern for Shuichi’s comfort. To harber them alone or in private would be impossible. So instead the boy allows them to shine through and meet each wincing moan of his partner. 

Muscles tense as the Detective finally pulls his blade from pale skin. 

For the second time, now stronger, Shuichi is struck by how Kokichi's wounds look. They open up like the slit pupils of a cat- showing off that inner red. It makes the Detective boil inside. Heat and a dizzying kind of arousal stir as he watches blood trickle out. At first slowly, but such a wound has consequences. 

Blood smears across pale skin as Shuichi finds himself painting patterns at knife point.

His eyes dart up to see Kokichi's constantly changing expression. Shuichi finds that his boyfriend seems full of something like rapture again. As if this act is becoming a religious experience. Perhaps it is, and so Kokichi's eyes get to see the pitch black knife rise towards Shuichi’s lips. 

Kokichi's blood near burns against Shuichi’s tongue. Yet the taste is almost sweet. He groans and squeezes at the Ultimate Supreme Leader's cock, content to watch purple eyes become fogged. 

It seems like they're both starting to float somewhere else.

Only two stab wounds and so many more to go, Shuichi muses. Gold eyes turn back towards the angrily red penis in his hand. The blade soon returns to its place near Kokichi's belly button. Shuichi rubs his tongue against his palate, spreading blood around, and brings his face closer to his lover's aching need.

Precum is usually a bit salty or bitter, if less so than actual cum. That's what Shuichi assumes from his reading and experiences with Kokichi. Far from an awful taste though. It melds with the sweet metallic of blood in a way that makes Shuichi hum appreciatively. 

Whines and the sound of ropes rubbing against wood. Kokichi laughs too, mewling giggles when lips ghost over the head of his cock. 

"Shuichi..." the boy murmurs, voice both light and heavy. Strained as drool covers his cock and heat envelopes it. Kokichi lets out a reverberating groan. 

A drawn out thing full of frustration and warped satisfaction. Gold eyes travel across perforations and the contours of pale skin, dips and shadows, until they settle upon parted lips. Just as rosy as the puffy areola on Kokichi's chest. That mouth twists into a smirk after the Ultimate Supreme Leader opens his eyes. 

Expressions like that always send chills down Shuichi’s spine. The Detective associates it heavily with their first time. Back when he was too hesitant to take any sort of control, back when Kokichi wouldn't trust anyone but himself with control, and back when they were both swept away with the shock of new intimacy- while being crushed by each new day.

Nowadays, they're both burning into embers full of things that can't possibly be understood. Shuichi can't say that this is acceptable, or that it's anything approaching healthy let alone right. But it's something and that's all they can do. If this is how he can comfort and love the person in front of him... 

He'll love Kokichi even after there's nothing of them left. That's what Shuichi wants. Believes, because they're the only home the other has in so many ways. 

"Do you want me to continue?" the Detective wonders after pulling his head back from Kokichi's throbbing sex, trying to beat down the roiling of conflict by chasing after the sparks of mutual debasement. "Would the Ultimate Supreme Leader like to ask me to stab him, again? Or maybe just this much is the limit?"

“Ahh-hah! You'll do it, Shumai will do it, right? My Shuichi will do i-it,” comes a response of hitched breathe and sneering lips. 

The knife doesn't take a simple plunge into a willing body this time. Shuichi refrains from a frenzied stab too. Instead, he slowly presses the tip of the blade down. He even rotates it, he rubs the edges against sensitive skin, and goes as far as to divert his efforts. Black metal skims along a dark purple happy trail for all of five seconds. A tease for sure. 

No amount of foreplay can beat Shuichi’s yearning though. Twisted up into seething coils of ink, it makes him swallow down air. Shuichi ends up caressing his lover's cock with his cheek. Each of the heated organ’s throbs are obvious to him. Already were, but now the Detective can have the gift of Kokichi's precum on his face. He happily rubs his soft cheek onto the erection. Kokichi squirms, mumbling about need. 

Maybe his wounds are excruciating. Perhaps Kokichi feels numb. Or he could be swimming in so many conflicting reactions that ecstasy is all the boy can register. 

Shuichi hopes for the later. 

Black rises above Kokichi's skin and slashes at an awkward angle, the knife slicing flesh just below exposed ribs. He wants to do it again. Over and over until Kokichi is satisfied. 

Which is what the boy does after watching the startled wiggling of his boyfriend's body. Shuichi puts more force behind the next attack. A line, just as red and angry as the other wounds, paints itself near Kokichi's hip. It travels just a handful of inches towards his belly button. Completing the cut makes Kokichi groan again- but it turns into a drawn out moan once Shuichi digs his fingernails into the latest knife wound.

Pale fingers stained with blood dance across even paler skin. Kokichi's body relaxes at the touch and he even quivers from what might be a ticklish sensation. It makes the Detective's mind calm, that simple and domestic reaction. He closes his eyes and allows visions of red and red, red, fill up the fuzzy black.

A handful of seconds pass before Kokichi's body arches off the bed from a quick stab. His cock pulses as Shuichi’s hand pumps it, but another thrust downward from the knife has the Ultimate Supreme Leader flinching. More slits and wide openings appear all over his abdomen. Near his ribs, near his navel, and they even dip down towards his pelvic region.

They cover almost every stretch of skin. Red like the ropes and red like the roses, the deeply colored ones that Kokichi stares at when passing a florists. 

Golden and wide, Shuichi’s eyes can barely fathom how beautifully decorated Kokichi looks. Precum floods over his fingers like some kind of proof. What it's proof of could be many things. 

“More… S-sh,” comes faint begging. Kokichi's convulsions do nothing to hide the whisper of his voice. There's pain in it. 

Yet the Detective embraces the wanton twist of Kokichi's lips, he craves the truth in each giddy shout, and so Shuichi chooses to believe in how his lover's body tries to meet each stab of their blade. When he sees the blade being embraced by an old wound there's a rush. Heat in addition to utter fascination.

Eventually, the knife is discarded onto the bed. 

Slow and gentle movements bring Shuichi’s fingers up against cuts. Blood seeps out when he presses down. The feeling of it must be good, because Kokichi tries to meet it. All Shuichi can do is marvel as the sheer heat and the outlandish sensation of perforated flesh. 

“Can I,” the Detective licks his lips, mouth dry. His eyes grow unfocused before they center back onto Kokichi's dazed grin. “Can I touch inside of you?”

Utter delirium fills up purple eyes as Kokichi starts to laugh. It's a wheezing and infectiously lighthearted sound. Shuichi has never heard anything like it in his entire life. Neither the one he's programed to remember nor the one that he's lived. Kokichi's voice is an innocent thing full of youthful enigmas- but it now embodies a tempting brand of hysteria. Another person's laugh joins it, and the Detective finds it to be his own. Even that feels like a lie though. 

Another thing cracks inside of him.

His head finds itself laying on Kokichi's injuries in empty wonder. The boy's face soaks up blood and the occasional sliver of meat. Still, Shuichi hears himself giggles and shake. Aching facial muscles expose him as grinning a sinister little thing, but it's just like the laughter in that he isn't sure how it belongs to him. 

But it does. Denying it isn't possible. Just like the painful heat between his legs, and Shuichi’s voice falls to a whimper. 

“Do anything, ehhehehe, you w-ant with me,” Kokichi slurs in between stubborn giggles. The boy's mouth makes sloppy wet noises while he snickers. Sighs full of relief or perhaps want escape his lips as well. When Shuichi glances upwards, he sees and hears something spine chilling, “Shumai can do any- anything he waah… ah. Shuichi can't. Shuichi, Shuichi shhuiie! Ahahaa~!”

Kokichi is most certainly lost. 

It should make Shuichi pause and stop, but his body moves without his permission. His mind is floating and his sense of self has been dashed across the rocks. Like the cut of a knife into water. Everything is disturbed but quickly goes back to normal on the outside. Perhaps that's wrong, perhaps, yet Shuichi’s tongue is still lapping across the edges of a wound.

He has to make Kokichi happy. It's his purpose. Kokichi needs to feel good, he has to feel safe- Shuichi has to do more and more until there's nothing but that orgasmic smile of complete and absolute love. That's why he's here and why he was made, this is why Shuichi has been born into the body of someone who must have been truly worthless. 

Everything is for Ouma Kokichi. 

So his hand has picked up the knife without him. So he's cutting into a deep thing that welcomes the reflectionless metal home. So the soft and sensitive meat of Kokichi's body plays host to fingers and tongue as well.

Feels good, Kokichi's lips spell out while something hot and sticky hits Shuichi. His hands? His face? But Kokichi feels good… 

Tastes good. 

Moments pass and they're full of feeling. Kokichi's body pushes at him from the inside out. It's nothing that he's ever felt before, and Shuichi can only think: warm warm warm. 

Cum drips down from his hair as Shuichi loses himself in an oddly knowing gaze. The Detective gives up and struggles to please himself, suckling up blood while fingering layers of fat-muscle-organ. He mewls into Kokichi's freely offered gift to him. Too much, everything is, but the boy still stares into tired purple like a wretch pleading for the right to exist. If this is the rest of eternity then Shuichi’s mind will be content with it. Living the rest of his life as an instinct driven animal is fine if Kokichi wants it. 

Forever. They'll be, forever-

Orgasm starts like jolts of electricity. Shuichi rides it out by forcing himself upwards and his hands towards that neck. He can't let Kokichi suffer now that it's done. That approaching pallor is almost done conquering the other boy. A small body full of wounds must bleed out quickly. Kokichi merely looks at him with satisfaction blooming from a smug smile. Both of them linger that way until Shuichi’s lips gravite downwards. 

Kokichi tastes like a drug. 

Shuichi waits eight minutes and fifty-five point thirty seconds for his boyfriend to revive. 

Warm smiles remind him that he should provide aftercare. Or maybe the boy should put away the cut ropes. Shuichi should be moving, or talking about what they just did in a way that has meaning. 

But all he can do is look at Kokichi's relaxed lounging and feel empty. 

“Hey, what's with that look?” Kokichi grumbles while running his fingers across the untouched skin of his abdomen. Shuichi just stares at those purple eyes, alive and alert. Yet it seems that his boyfriend sees right through him. The other boy frowns, “Is this you being frightened of yourself, Shumai? Regretting it?”

“No…” but they both know that it's a lie. 

Kokichi smiles tiredly at the Ultimate Detective. He turns himself onto his side and gets in closer, dirtying himself with more drying blood and semen, “When you kill me, do you think that anyone or everyone secretly wants to do it?”

Gold and purple stare into one another. Shuichi isn't sure what Kokichi wants to hear. In fact, he doesn't quite understand the question. Of course he doesn't go looking at strangers and assuming that they want to kill Kokichi. Most people in daily life aren't even capable of murder. To do what they've done is extremely atypical. Probability manipulated murders aside. 

Telling Kokichi that produces murmuring chuckles. 

“Well then there you go, step one of not being a criminal- you've avoided the tendency of thinking that everyone secretly wants to do exactly as you do! I'm so glad that my Shumai is pure,” the boy soon says with a cheerful hum. 

“I stabbed you and came all over the wounds. That's not pure!” Shuichi croaks, eyes burning. 

“But you don't want to kill me. You don't want to hurt people either. Hey,” glinting purple closes momentarily. “People like us are different from normal. We're just artificial personalities shoved into meat sacks! Everything about us was designed for entertainment purposes only. The rest of our lives will have our class constantly watched by mental health professionals, and it's because we were made up for dying.”

Shuichi’s heart aches, and yet, he can't deny it. He wants to say that it's all excuses. But he knows how Shinguuji is goes to therapy twice a week even after extensive removal of certain backstory elements. Angie's entire culture is a made up amalgam. Each of them has that gaping hole in them, to a degree. Hearing Kokichi tell the truth in such a lighthearted tone is painful.

A pale hand rests on the Detective's trembling shoulder. 

“Does Shuichi want to kill other people? Does he get off on doing those rare murder cases? Do you? Has Shuichi become a remorseless monster because of my selfishness?”

The boy feels his breathing stutter, his heart skip a panicked beat, “No!”

Pink lips form knowing smile laced with adoration. Getting closer, Shuichi lays limp and chokes back tears when Kokichi's head joins him on his pillow. 

“I want to tell someone about it, you know? Not Dangan Ronpa this time. Shuichi shouldn't have to kill me like this… even if it's fun! Maybe there's a fun pill that you can hide in my food each day and that'll be enough,” Kokichi eventually whispers, lips just inches away from a kiss. 

Hearing that is strange- even though they've talked before about such things. Shuichi stares at Kokichi's odd peacefulness and slowly starts to move. His fingers run down soft skin and feel all the lack of wounds. Not a scar to be seen. All of Kokichi's scars are locked away inside of him. The Detective feels buzzing just underneath his own skin, and knows that many of his scars are the same. Each and every one of them, now.

“What did he do? The you from before?”

“Oh, the old Ouma… He set up group suicides after manipulating at risk people. Disgusting stuff like that. Maybe that's just a lie that I was told. Nothing simple like Shuichi’s gore kink though!”

Careful and slow, they end up holding onto one another. Shuichi’s voice dies just before he tries to respond. He gulps down nothingness before hiding his face in Kokichi's hair. 

“They said I joined for someone but wouldn't tell me more.”

Skin brushes skin as Kokichi ends up laying on his stomach, chin resting in the palm of his hand. The boy's expression is soft and almost mournful. One that Shuichi recognizes too. A mysterious look that heralds the absence of both truth and lie. Kokichi looks down at the Detective with that subtle manner of kindness and smiles just as wistfully. His free hand gently moves towards dark teal hair, stroking the mostly dry strands. 

Humming, Kokichi's eyes betray him as being lost in thought. His lips part with a wavering exhalation, “Let's get better together?”

Most people would assume that Kokichi is deflecting. 

Golden eyes stay locked into stalwart contact. 

“Let's get better, Kokichi.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written while alternatively drunk and sleep deprived, just like the rest of it 😂

**Author's Note:**

> Next chapter is gonna be fucking and killing. At the same time probably.


End file.
